Chapter Seventy-Two
Declan was in the new arcade, making sure that the staff were all aware of the new regime. He found it best to be on-site for the first few weeks, that way you got a real working knowledge of the people you had around you.
So far, so good. In fairness to Ricky Thomas he had gathered a pretty decent team around himself, and that made their job that much easier. Because it was a cash business the potential for theft from within was astronomical, so certain measures had to be put in place. But the name Murphy was usually enough to see that honesty prevailed. Still, it helped to let the employees know you were watching them all the same.
Declan walked through to the office at the back of the hall; he liked it in there, it had a nice bar and comfortable chairs. It also had a large TV that often came in handy for the racing – he liked a bet and had a flutter every day. He also had his eye on a young blonde who was one of the floor walkers; she was pretty but, more importantly, she was intelligent. He thought she would be worth keeping an eye on for the future. She had great tits as well, and that was always a bonus as far as he was concerned. She had already given him the glad eye, so he reckoned he might be in there before too long. He wasn't after a serious relationship; he felt he was still too young, and too enamoured of a bit of strange to tie himself down. The prospect just didn't appeal to him and, in his line of work, he had an endless line of females all dying to drop their flimsy little drawers for him, so it was a pretty good deal all round. As Declan poured himself a large Scotch, Phillip came into the room, and he was surprised to see him tonight.
Phillip locked the door quickly, saying, 'Pour me one, Dec.' As he slipped off his overcoat, Declan saw he was covered in blood, and was immediately worried.
'You all right, Phil?'
Phillip laughed, pleased at his brother's concern. 'Yeah, had a bit of unfinished business with Ricky Thomas.'
He was already stripping off his clothes and placing them in a black bin bag. When he was naked he picked up his drink and swallowed it down, holding out the glass for another. Declan obliged, but he was annoyed. There was no reason to take out Ricky – they had got what they wanted, this was just petty and juvenile and he said as much. 'You had to do it, didn't you? Everyone will know it was us, Phil…'
'They'd better. This is my message to the whole fucking seafront: don't fuck with the Murphys. Especially this fucking Murphy.'
He walked through to the small bathroom and turned on the shower, then, coming back into the room, he said happily, 'Oh, by the way, I promised him I'd look out for his kids, and you know me, Dec, I am a lot of things but I always keep a promise. So we'll get a few quid together for his old woman, and make sure everyone puts in a decent wedge. She'll need it now they won't be going to Spain.'
'She'll be devastated, she loved him you know.'
'Oh, I wouldn't worry about her too much. Six weeks after the funeral she'll be sweating her arse off underneath some young ponce, who's as interested in what she's got as he is in her fake tits. Hardly
Declan laughed despite himself, he knew what Phillip said was true. But it was still a shame – he had liked Ricky Thomas, he was a nice geezer. But the damage was done, and there was no reason to keep on about it. Phillip had done what he felt he had to do, and that was that. While his brother showered, Declan tied up the bin bag ready to be burned in the incinerator at the farm.
Ten minutes later Phillip was washed, dressed and ready to go to one of the clubs for a few drinks.
It was over with, finished, done.
Chapter Seventy-Three
Christine was making the boys their breakfast. She was happy again, but she still wasn't sleeping much. In fact, she was hardly sleeping at all. She would mention it to the doctor on Wednesday when she went for her appointment. She had hardly slept for ten days now, and even she knew that it wasn't right. She was manic again, and she was afraid that meant she was due one of her brain storms, as Phillip so succinctly put it. She was too frightened to go to sleep, because when she did, she was plagued by bad dreams, about blood, and death, and suicide. She saw herself drowning in a sea of thick, hot blood, could taste it as it forced its way down her throat and into her body; the smell was heavy, cloying, and she knew it was never going to stop. She shivered at the thought as she opened the Aga and took out the boys' huge breakfasts. They had a full English every morning, it was what they needed to get them through the day. They were growing like weeds, and they were both heavy- boned and tall like their father.
As she placed the plates on the table, she listened to the news on her local radio station and, for a few seconds, she thought she had imagined what she had heard.
'Shut up, you two! I'm trying to hear.'
The boys immediately became quiet, listening with her.
'The man was found brutally stabbed to death on Southend Seafront at five o'clock this morning by two young fishermen who saw the car abandoned in the small lay-by near the sea. Mr
Richard Thomas was a well-known face in Southend, his grandfather had opened his first arcade along the front in the nineteen twenties and his son, Richard Thomas's father, had opened another one in the late fifties. Police say they are treating the death as murder, and urge any witnesses to come forward. Anything they have to say will be received in the strictest confidence. Mr Thomas leaves a wife and two young children.'
Philly and Timmy were both open-mouthed with astonishment.
'Is that Uncle Ricky? Someone murdered Uncle Ricky?' Philly's voice was drenched in incredulity and shock. Timmy was near to tears, and Christine sat down heavily in the nearest chair, her mind whirling at the news. She was already shaking with fear and, standing up quickly, she ran from the room. She was holding her hand across her mouth as if to stop herself from making any sound. A voice in her head was screaming that it wasn't true, what she was thinking couldn't be true. Phillip wouldn't do that, he had got what he wanted, so surely there was no need for him to do that… But something inside her knew that she was wrong, was convinced that Phillip was involved somehow.
As she retched over the sink in the downstairs toilet, she heard the door opening behind her. She could feel Phillip's presence even before she looked in the bathroom mirror and stared straight into his eyes.
'I just heard, Chris. Fucking hell, it's unbelievable, ain't it?'
She nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak.
'Come on, a cup of hot sweet tea for you. You've had a terrible shock, and so have the boys. I'm going to keep them home today.'
He walked her gently back to the kitchen and, sitting her down, he poured her a cup of tea and, after he laced it liberally with Courvoisier, he did the same for the two boys. Christine gulped the liquid, and watched her husband's reaction to the news.
'You all right, Timmy?'
The boy was crying silently, and Christine knew she should comfort him, but she couldn't move from the chair.
Phillip poured her another brandy, not bothering with the tea this time, and he also went and got her a couple of her pills. She took them gratefully, uncaring of the way the boys were watching her in disgust.
Just then, Breda and Declan came through the back door. Christine had never been so grateful to see anyone in her life before.
'I take it you've heard?' Breda went straight to Christine and hugged her tenderly. 'He was such a bloody fool, he made so many bloody enemies in the last few months, and he owed money everywhere. Even Phillip bailed him out, tried to help him, but he wouldn't be helped.'
Christine was listening to her sister-in-law as if what she was saying was gospel. She couldn't believe that the man who had come to her home for dinner, whose only crime had been wanting to keep his business, had been murdered by her husband, by the father of her children. But she knew whatever anyone said it was true; deep
